Out of Reach
by MistressOfRobins
Summary: Bruce didn't like it when his little bird went Trick or Treating for the first time. He liked his teenage boy going away on a party five years later even less. /Father&Son fluff. Halloween Oneshot 2011/ Edited


**Out of Reach**

**-O-**

«_And I'm sitting here wearing__  
><em>_the weight of the world on my shoulders_…»

**-O-**

Bruce Wayne watches as the boy twirls; toes slightly perking as he leans up and once again takes a little pirouette. Then Richard extracts his arms from his body, holds them out to resemble airplane wings and jumps up, laughing cheerfully. His tiny body is quivering in anticipation as he waits for his adoptive father to respond.

They boy flaps the feather-covered arms, and then turns to show them: "Look, look! I can fly now, can't I, Bruce?"

A smile forms on Bruce's lips; the kind of smile only reserved for his son. The eight-year-old has been plagued by nightmares ever since the accident; Halloween was therefore the last thing either Bruce or Alfred had first thought the child would want to attend. True enough, it had been almost half a year since the death of the boy's parents, and yet Dick is still sore about special traditional happenings.

Though Christmas is the time of the year Bruce is dreading for the most, he is still nervous about the upcoming evening. Even so, seeing that twinkle in Dick's eyes, the way they boy proudly exhibits his personal made costume for the evening – it feels heartless to deny his son this after everything he has been through.

Nevertheless…

Bruce pushes away all worrying thoughts about potential pedophiles, rapists, serial killers, and so on (for the time being) and instead pats Dick warmly on the head, ruffling his ebony haired locks.

Blue eyes gleams and the Dark Knight is pretty certain his boy is smiling from ear to ear; the beak made of coloured cardboard makes it hard to see, but the pure excitement in those orbs says more than a thousand words ever could.

"Not quite yet, Dick, but you just keep practicing your acrobatics and you'll be close enough," Bruce says, his fingers now withdrawing from the dark hair as Alfred opens the door to his study.

The butler throws the pair a glance, his own eyes holding something loving tonight. It's very different from how the Manor used to be, and truthfully not even Bruce knows _how_; it just happened. How things just fell into a much more comfortable place; how his ice-walls slowly melted away by little Richard Grayson's presence.

Though Bruce sends a silent glare at the tights his eight-year-old is currently wearing ("Hello! Birds don't wear pants, Daddy!"), he follows Dick towards the exit. From what Dick told him yesterday, the kid's school buddies will meet up with him to go trick or treating. He had already questioned their parents, checked their backgrounds, looked at all their family trees… In other words, Bruce feels his son is relatively safe.

Despite that, Bruce had put a camera on the red cowl Dick is wearing over his head. At least, now he is assured that he can check in on his son whenever it's needed.

The doorbell rings, and Bruce's heart sinks.

For a moment he wants to reach out; Dick is so young. He's still not ready to be by himself – not completely. But Batman's got work to do and Robin's mission is to enjoy himself. And yet, the weight on his shoulders keeps increasing for every leap Dick takes towards the door.

Things would've been different if Alfred was going with, but the butler has other duties to tend to.

"Dick!" Bruce calls, knowing the moment the little acrobat opens the door he will be gone. The boy twirls around, flapping his wings due to the extra adrenaline he's feeling. He jumps again, grinning behind the beak and the billionaire sits down, hands now on the young boy's shoulders. "Be… eh, careful. And you know my number and you have your cell phone in your Halloween bag, right?"

"Yeah! I do, I do!" Dick says and suddenly he has wrapped his arms around Bruce's waist, there he hugs his adoptive father close. Bruce wonders for a moment, what he ever did to deserve this. Because, really, the boy trusts him already like he was his own; it's really too much to ask for from a boy who lost his parents six months ago.

The doorbell rings again.

Dick is out of his reach and Bruce only watches.

The kid will be fine…

But Bruce, he's not sure how fine he'll be. The weight on his shoulders becomes even heavier as the door to Wayne manor close. Trick and Treating, that was really overrated. Now, how long would it take for Dick to realise that?

Answer: not soon enough.

Not soon enough for Bruce.

**-O-**

«_And as I watch, you start to grow up__  
><em>_All I can do is hold you tight…_»

**-O-**

The boy enters the living room, his hair is ruffled, skin pale and fake scars are roaming his entire form. He looks into the mirror, seemingly pleased with his reflection, before looking up at Alfred and Bruce. Both older men had been busy discussing amongst themselves, but quieted down the moment Dick walked in.

Dick smirks, arms crossing as he looks at his family; both dressed in uptight suits, just like usual. Naturally, the fourteen-year-old has absolutely nothing to be surprised over. It has long since been noticed (especially by Bruce) that the only thing changing around the manor is Dick himself. The acrobat keeps growing, and yet the boy himself feels the opposite. He just wants it to continue; wants to feel mature in the presence of his teammates.

Yet, being the youngest (in mind) has its perks.

"So, how do I look?" Dick asks. And the teen extract his arms again, giving Bruce the kind of déjà vu a father usually wants to avoid. It's like seeing that happy little boy again, but there is no bird. Only a zombie with impressive Halloween makeup is left and though Bruce adores – _loves_ – this zombie teen, he misses that little bird.

Not that the Dark Knight ever admits to such.

Dick knows. That kid is better at reading people than _he_ is, and that does say a lot.

"As usual on Halloween, Master Richard, you look… hideous."

A light cackle escapes the teen, clearly amused by Alfred's choice of words. He runs a hand through his ruffled hair, and silently wonders how the party's attendants will react to Dick Grayson not having it bathed in gel like it commonly is.

"I'll escort you-"

"I'll do it, Alfred," Bruce interrupts before the butler has any more time to continue. And then the billionaire has a hand on Dick's shoulder, pats it lightly, before turning to look at Wayne manor's butler once more. "I have some things that needs to be discussed."

Dick feels like shrinking as his adoptive father leads him away, because he _knows_ what kind of conversation Bruce is looking for. The Dark Knight is a stoic man toward most, but as Bruce Wayne he takes his responsibilities as a parent a bit too seriously. That parental feeling of responsibility seems to grow even more the older he becomes and the more time he has with Bruce.

"Please, _please_ don't tell me you're gonna give me 'the Talk'. Just please!" Dick moans as they enter the hallway; visualising Bruce intensely talking about use of protection and how babies come to be (which Dick already knows, thank you) is just unbearable.

But Bruce's lips actually tug a bit upward. He pats Dick's shoulder, and says: "No, Dick. I just wanted to tell you to be careful."

"Careful?" Dick repeats, raising an eyebrow. "Come on, Bruce. I'm a big boy and know Gotham like the back of my pocket. Chill. I'll be _just fine_."

It sounds easy when Dick says it like that, because the boy just doesn't understand. For him, this was twice as worse as Trick or Treating when the boy was eight. Because the older Dick becomes, the more Bruce's control seems to loosen. Any time now, Bruce feels as if he is going to lose it all.

No control; it scares him. No Dick around scares him more. And Bruce Wayne doesn't handle fright well.

"Just… be careful."

And the boy smiles; his smiles haven't changed much over the years. They're slightly smaller, more confident and do not have as much glee as before. They're not as childish, but he reminds himself that Dick is still young, thus he is not completely gone yet. It just feels like it; because time, it just keeps going faster.

"I'm always careful."

_Hey, it's okay, you know? I'm capable of doing this._

"I know. Just wanted to tell you."

_I'm aware. But it doesn't make me worry less._

"I'll see you later."

_I'll be fine, old man. Relax._

"Yes, home by ten. Not a minute longer."

_Sometimes, Dick, relaxing around you is harder than having five of my most deadly villains attacking Gotham._

Though none of them are qualified as mind readers, the acrobat understands. He smiles reassuringly, before he opens the door; his composure gives away the excitement. It's a safe place for a party. Bruce knows the parents, knows of school behaviour, grades, free time activities… Bruce knows.

And yet, he has to resist the urge to reach out and hold on tight. Because tonight there is no camera on Dick.

* * *

><p><em>Lame, fic is lame D: I knows, okay? But I really wanted to post something before I go absent for a month (I'm participating in NaNoWriMo) and besides, I wanted a Halloween fic and I craved some fathersom fluff. So, I know it's not the best thing you can read of Bruce, Dick father son stuff, but review? It would be much appreciated! :)_

_PS: This was another practice of my present tense writing. Feel free to point out typos and so on._

_Song lyrics from: "Cinderella" by Steven Curtis Chapman, "In My Arms" by Plumb.  
><em>


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